Lost Paradigms of Justice
by CaptainMaybe
Summary: As an ancient chantry crumbles into obsolescence, long held beliefs shatter under the weight of justice. Terror and confusion cannot drown out the truth. Whispers of it creep through even the darkest shadows of Thedas; everything has changed. Anders Oc
1. Chapter 1

The world began with an explosion.

There was yelling and screaming, too, as blooms of orange and purple sparked up into the night sky. But mostly there was a terrible, yawning ache—the kind of ache that only occurs when something nudges and wriggles itself into the very fabric of the universe, and the universe roils and undulates in confusion, shifting to accommodate that small, impossibly important something.

A conviction.

An idea that something was wrong with the shape of the world; that the shape of mankind itself could only attain a twisted, crippled caricature of perfection.

The flaming smoke-choked embodiment of human ideals was not justice.

It was a shift.


	2. Chapter 2

_But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?-Mark Twain_

* * *

It was the third day after The Event when the head maid finally relented and gave Taryn library duty. "Now don't be ge'in above your station, girl. You're awfully new, and I'm giving it to you as a favor-you be'er be grateful , 'cause I swear, if the mistress finds one lick of dust in there, you'll be cleaning out chamber pots for the rest of your stay." With a stern glance and an emphatic snort, she pushed a feather duster into Taryn's limp hands.

"Well, go on, I don't have all day," she said, heaving a second, threatening snort. Taryn chanced a nervous glance around the spartan servant's quarter before escaping out into the hallway.

_Miserable old bat_, Taryn almost thought to herself before remembering that she was a good, obedient servant who would never think poorly of her employer. She was very lucky that Serah Crell had decided to hire another maid; she was even luckier that Serah Crell had decided to hire her, untested, with smudged cheeks and an old, grey, twice-owned dress. Still, Taryn couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that the old hag—no, wait—_respected superior_, could read minds; only last week, two of the other maids had been soundly rebuked for whispering cruelties about the Master's son.

Taryn walked swiftly through the corridor, passing a few servants, who gave her perfunctory nods before continuing their cleaning, or polishing, or general house-keeping. She eventually found a staircase in the second wing, and, praying for luck, descended slowly. At the foot of the stairs she looked around, and sighed in relief; this was the library.

High, domed arches filtered light through colored glass, letting beams of red and blue light scatter gracefully onto rich, mahogany tables. Rows of bookshelves lined the room, and the gentle susseruss of the wind through the trees sounded distantly through the thick stone walls. Opulant, divans, spaced agreeably throughout the room complimented the lush, burgundy carpets. The room, isolated from the general bustle of estate, exuded tranquility.

Taryn let herself breathe in the thick scent of ancient parchment, then, shaking her head, began to tidy-up.

She had only dusted her second shelf when she spotted the book lying partially exposed beneath a massive, maroon couch. Carefully, she made her way behind the couch and pulled the book out from the shadows. _What's this?_ _Who would hide a book?_ she wondered, carrying it over to one of the tables.

The book was thick and heavy, with a strong, leather cover embossed with intricate, delicate patterns. Taryn scanned the room hastily before opening to the first page.

She squinted at the words, sounding them out just like she'd been taught, "The Enchanter's Guide to Elementry Mag-"

The book crashed to the table with a loud _whump_.

"Maker's, saggy white beard," Taryn breathed, bringing trembling fingers to her mouth. She had to put this back. Right now. She couldn't be seen with this, this—

"What are you doing here!" a shrill voice demanded.

She spun around, nearly tripping. There, not six feet away, stood the master's seven-year-old son, Thomas. His face crumpled into a twisted scowl, brows furrowing furiously over irate, piercing eyes. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here." he repeated, each word rising in pitch and volume.

"N-nothing, just cleaning," she said, grasping desperately behind her for the book. _Had he seen it? _She found the book and promptly held it behind her back, praying he had seen nothing. "Normal chores, dusting, cleaning, tidying."

Thomas squinted at her suspiciously and opened his mouth, about to say something, then, seemingly changed his mind. "You better not be doing anything bad," he said, after a moment, "or else, I'll tell my dad to fire you, and you'll never, ever get another job."

"Of course, young master," she agreed, then backed out of the room as quickly as she could, leaving the boy in the library, glaring after her.

She fled to her room, nearly knocking over a suit of armor in her haste. Thoughts swarmed her head relentlessly. _What was that? Why was Thomas there? And, Maker, who had been reading that blighted book? _

As she entered her room, a final, icy thought hurtled through her mind._ Someone, here at the estate, has a horrible, terrible secret._

Taryn shoved the book under her pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

_From pacifist to terrorist, each person condemns violence - and then adds one cherished case in which it may be justified.—Gloria Steinem_

* * *

It was the fourth day after The Event when Taryn stumbled over the body in the garden. Situated between a patch of petunias and violets, the body lay unmoving and unresponsive. Pink blossoms from a nearby cherry tree wafted delicately onto the inert lump.

_Really,_ Taryn thought faintly, _the violets are quite lovely this time of year. A nice, pleasing shade of purple, I think . And that wisteria. Mum would have loved to see this. _ Her eyes gravitated back to the body.

She screamed.

The gardener was the first to arrive, followed shortly by a huffing Mrs. Crell.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" She exploded. Her eyes fell onto the body, "Maker, we need a medic! Right now!" She pointed at Taryn, "You, girl, run an' fetch the doctor. " Taryn's eyes moved dazedly from the body to meet Mrs. Crell's piercing glower. "Lively now! You waste more than two seconds smelling the roses, an' you won't see nothing but the inside of your wardrobe for the next year!"

With a shudder, Taryn spared one last glance at the prostrate figure, and then sprinted towards the house.

_What is going on? What is going on?_ The thought circled frantically through her mind as she flew through the door, tearing past the bewildered doorman.

"Doctor! Doctor!" she screamed, pounding up the stairs. She charged into the doctor's quarters, shoving past a small, scrawny figure.

"Hey!" the figure said. Taryn turned for a split second. "Master Thomas," she acknowledged, then turned back to the doctor.

"What can I do for you?" the doctor asked politely. He was a mousy, balding, middle aged man with a monocle perched upon his long, crooked nose. "I was just seeing to Thomas here, he's gotten a bit of a scrape it seems-"

"You've got to help!" Taryn interrupted. "In the flower bed! There's violets and wisteria. And cherry blossoms! Just falling and falling onto the- the" her throat constricted, choking off the last words.

The doctor's mouth twisted in confusion, "You want me to come see the flowers? In the garden? I'm sorry, dear, but I think you may be overreacting. Are you feeling alright?"

"No!" she squawked. "The body, doctor! There's a body in the garden!"

He blanched. "Are you sure? No, of course you are. I must gather my things." And with that, he scurried around the room, gathering a ball of linens from the bedside table before hurrying out.

It was fifteen minutes before the doctor returned with a parade on onlookers. "Out of the way, out of the way," he yelled, pushing aside several serving girls, "Don't jostle him!" he added, as two serving men carried a heavy board inside the room. On it sprawled the body from the garden. Carefully, they maneuvered the board onto one of the beds near the window.

For the first time, Taryn could see the body clearly. The man was filthy; dirt smudged his cheekbones and found its way into muddy, straw-like hair. His jacket, if it could be called that, was matted with blood. There was no indication that he was alive.

"Everyone out!" yelled the doctor. "Out, out, out!" He herded the spectators out of the room, waving his arms menacingly. Taryn, one of the last to linger, was shoved roughly into the hallway.

The door slammed shut and the corridor exploded into excited chatter.

"Who was that?" "What happened?" "What will the Master say?" "Maker's breathe, in the flower bed?"

"You!" a voice cut through the clamor. Mrs. Crell loomed over Taryn, grabbing her arm in a crushing grip. "You are coming with me!"

In the corner, unnoticed by the loud throng of house staff, a small boy sat quietly, hugging his legs. He watched, ashen faced as the world fell apart.

He could feel it shatter in one, heaving, mocking laugh.

* * *

_Author's note: If you've made it this far, you are awesome. Pure, unadulturated, awesome. I realized that in the last two chapters, I forgot to include The Statement, so I'll do so now: I own nothing that belongs to BioWare. I just play in their sandbox for my amusement. By the way, this is my first work of fiction, fanfic or otherwise, so if you are feeling charitable, or bored, or even snarky, leave a review so I know how to change whatever might be particularly annoying. Or entertaining. _


	4. Chapter 4

_"There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?-David Foster Wallace_

* * *

Mrs. Crell dragged Taryn into an unused servant's room, deposited her on a lone, wooden chair, and quickly closed the door, locking it behind her. Taryn could still hear muffled exclamations and chatter coming from the hallway.

"Now, girl," Mrs. Crell walked swiftly until she towered over Taryn, "I don't know what's going on, but I want answers. Now."

"I-I was just in the garden, Ma'am," Taryn began, looking down at the floor.

"Doing what? Who gave you permission to be in the garden?"

"No one, Ma'am," she could hear the blood rushing through her ears. "I was just… I thought…"

"You were picking flowers for your mother weren't you?"

"How did you know?" Taryn gasped, looking up to meet Mrs. Crell's intent gaze.

"I know. And I also know that it was her birthday just a fortnight ago. And a little mouse told me you asked the steward for the afternoon off." Her voice remained steely. "It was thoughtless, Taryn. Sweet, but thoughtless."

"I know I wasn't supposed to be there-"

"Just what exactly would you have done if someone had caught you steeling?" Mrs. Crell snapped, brows tightening. "Tell me—what would you have done if someone found you there, helping yourself to the possessions of our benefactors?"

"I-"

"You would have lost your job. And your hand. And you wouldn't be getting' either of them back." She sighed, "I hate to say it, girl, but you are damned lucky to have found that corpse of a man. The maker doesn't drop bodies from the sky for just anyone."

"I suppose he has a sense of humor, then." Taryn muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Mrs. Crell said, "No, never mind. Listen, I ought to report you to the master. It's my duty to make sure the staff is running cleanly."

"No! Please don't!" Taryn cried, jumping to her feet. "Without this job, I'll starve! And so will my mother! Please, ma'am you can't do this!" She could feel pressure building up behind her eyes and a rock suddenly lodged itself in her throat. Her stomach lurched painfully, trying to claw its way up her abdomen.

"How can I trust you, girl? What right do you have to stay here?"

"Please, please," Taryn croaked, "I'll do anything, I swear."

Mrs. Crell froze, her eyes darting to the side thoughtfully. "Anything, eh? Well, I suppose we can work with that."

She collapsed slowly onto the nearby bed steepling her fingers beneath her chin.

"We need to keep a close watch on our new guest, it seems. I don't trust anyone who shows up unannounced." She turned to Taryn, brow wrinkled in thought. "You, my dear, will be my eyes and ears until I decide otherwise. You are to inform the doctor that you are his new nurse. You are to report to me every night just after midnight in the kitchen. And," her eyes gleamed in the stream of light from the window, "you are to run directly to me the minute he begins to awaken."

"Ma'am?" Taryn hesitated, "He looked… Well, he looked quite dead when they brought him to the doctor."

"Even more reason to watch closely then," Mrs. Crell replied, standing up. She strode to the door and unlocked it. "Taryn," she said, facing the door, "If there's anyone in this world you should mistrust, it's the dead."

She strode out into the hallway.

* * *

It took Taryn a few moments to calm herself before leaving the room. She walked down the hallway, listening carefully, but the crowd had dissipated, leaving only the sound of her own footsteps.

She stopped in front of the doctor's door, took a large breath and knocked. "Go away!" the doctor's voice called through the thick wood.

She knocked again, "Doctor, it's me Tary-"

The door swung open and the doctor looked down at her. His robes were smeared with grime and his shoulders were slumped in fatigue.

"Taryn, good to see you here. What brings you around?"

"Mrs. Crell said that I was to be a nurse, sir"

His drained, glazed eyes looked down at her for a moment before he stepped aside. "Yes, do come in. I could use the help right now."

The door thudded shut behind her as she entered the room. A shaft of light fell onto the bed near the window. The man from the garden lay there; his face had been washed and his robes disposed of. White linens twisted snugly around his waist.

"I feel that I should warn you," the doctor said, striding towards the patient "that I will not tolerate you spying for Mrs. Crell" He glanced over at Taryn's sharp intake of breath, "Yes, I know. She's not as crafty as she likes to think." He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, "Well, actually, she is. I'm just smarter than she'll admit."

A cold tremor trickled down Taryn's spine. "Sir, I have to report to her. I'll lose my job otherwise."

"Well, now. We can't be having that." He said, rummaging through a pile of medical supplies. "Ah! Here it is!" he said, pulling out a small needle. "Light a candle for me, please."

"Why?" Taryn asked, retrieving a candle from the corner of the room. She stuck the wick in the flames of the fireplace, waiting only a second before it caught fire. She hurried back to the doctor.

"Because," he said, holding the tip of the needle in the small flame "it is imperative to sterilize the needle before attempting to sew the ectodermal tissue back together." The needle was slowly turning a dull red. "That ought to do it," the doctor said pulling the needle away from the flame. "Hand me the thread, if you will."

"That's not what I meant, sir" Taryn said, grabbing a ball of thread from the cupboard, "Why keep me, if you know that I'm supposed to spy on you?"

He stared intently at the needle, attempting to thread it with the thick, white fiber. "Because I need a nurse, that's why," he grunted. "And she's not the only one who can have spies. I've always wondered how many of her lackeys I've successfully guessed. I know for sure that red head who follows the mistress around like a lost puppy, and the stable boy who came in with a broken arm…"

He finally managed to thread the needle, "Now come here," he said, standing over the man, "He's got a gash along the left side of his torso, just deep enough to slice a good chunk of muscle." He pulled down the sheet, revealing a laceration running down the length of the man's waste. Blood trickled from the corners of the wound, weeping down onto the bed beneath, staining the sheets a rusty red.

"We need to avoid the possibility of infection, so go retrieve the water that I boiled. It should be above the fireplace." Taryn hauled the large pot from above the fireplace, shuffling back to the bedside. "Good, now you're going to need to irrigate the wound. Just pour water on the gash. Slowly." The muscles around the lesion spasmed as she emptied the water onto the man's torso.

"And now we can begin sewing this man shut. Taryn, I'll need you to hold the skin together." She put a hand on either side of the gash, pushing the two flaps of skin together. More blood seeped from the edges of the wound. "Yes, yes, very good," the doctor said, then pierced the needle through one flap of skin, then the other, and began to sew the gash shut.

The procedure took scarcely less than five minutes. After the doctor tied a final knot and cut the string, Taryn let out a sigh of relief.

"Well, that went well," the doctor exclaimed happily. His blood-shot eyes betrayed his exhaustion. "Taryn, I'm going to have to ask you to watch over the patient for the rest of the afternoon. I'll write you a note for Mrs. Crell. Memorize what it says, and report it back to her. Word for word." The doctor picked up a quill and inkpot from a nearby desk and scribbled a message onto a piece of parchment. He handed it to Taryn.

"I'll be in my quarters. Come get me if his condition changes." He departed, casting a cursory glance back into the room as he left.

Taryn walked back to the patient, and sat tentatively on the end of the bed. His face looked undisturbed in the evening light. Thin stubble lined a strong jaw. A long nose led up to closed eyes situated upon an ashen face. She could see the light rise and fall of his chest as he breathed steady, shallow breathes.

_Who is this man?_ she thought as she turned her gaze towards the window, watching the clouds pass by in languid, thoughtless existence. Her gaze drifted back to the man, eyes falling onto the wound.

She returned her attention to the clouds.

* * *

_Author's note: So it's four am in the morning and I have no idea why I'm awake. I don't even believe in the hours between three and six am. __As always, if you're feeling like it, leave a review. I appreciate any feedback. __Also, I wonder who this mysterious almost-corpse is? Hmmmm... Three guesses. _


End file.
